


Wayward

by Sophisticated_Adult



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, barbarian au, friendly reminder that Roddy is an Extremely Good Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophisticated_Adult/pseuds/Sophisticated_Adult
Summary: Hot Rod issupposedto go out into the desert and come back a Prime.He...sort of does that. Like, he gets half points.(Happy hotlock week!)
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Wayward

**Author's Note:**

> A quick thing for hotlock week, not following any prompts or anything just vibing with the boys <3

It's not so much sand as it is grit and dirt under his feet, but the flat, wide expanse the clan makes their territory is called simply The Desert, so. It might as well be. It certainly made Hot Rod want the first thing he does, once he returns as Rodimus Prime, to be a blessedly-long, hot _bath_ to get the stuff off of him. He's not as conscientious of his frame as Sunstreaker, at least, but he has the feeling he's going to come home in all his Primely glory looking like he rolled around in a dirt ball for half a day.

Nothing to it. He was out here, and now it was just him and the Desert and the Matrix, slung across his neck with cabling crafted by Optimus himself across the course of a week, all the proper rites and blessings bestowed both on it and on Hot Rod in preparation.

He still thought they were out of their processors, but, whatever. Apparently the Matrix _liked_ him. That meant, like others before him, like Optimus, he was to go out and – and, well they called it 'commune', to bond with the sacred artifact until it forged a connection and his frame was reshaped and moulded as a true Chosen Prime.

He was a little apprehensive about that part, if he was honest. But for all its glowy...special-ness, the Matrix lay quiet against his chest, so. Not yet. They needed some serious alone time first.

It was nice that the whole village had turned out to see him off, Springer pushing the vibro-knife Roddy'd always envied into his hands. Optimus had hugged him, told him that whatever happened, he was proud, and not even super-seriously but with a fondness in his optics that would keep anyone moving forward, desperate to please or at least _not disappoint_. (Okay, maybe that part was just Roddy).

Close to nightfall, he decided to make his way over to an outcrop of rocks that would hopefully provide some shelter, get a fire going, get himself some fuel, then maybe start on this whole 'communing' thing; so far he'd not felt anything, either from himself or the Matrix. At least he'd have a light source in the dark without using his own power on his headlights or something.

Once he was closer Hot Rod stopped, squinting and shading his optics with his hands to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. The rocks were still rocks, but lying at the base of them - 

“ _Slag_.” He sprinted the last few metres, optics locked on to the crumpled frame lying face-down in the dirt. It hadn't gone grey, but it was so utterly covered in the Desert's grit it was hard to tell, at first. Hot Rod looked around, but of course there was no-one, no help coming. 

Slag it. They wanted him as Prime, they were gonna have to deal with him doing what he thought was the right thing. And since Rodimus Prime didn't currently exist, it was Hot Rod calling the shots.

“Can you walk?” He asked, looking over the battered frame, pitted pocks and marks where wind-blown dust and grit had proved to be effective missiles. The probably-black mech groaned as Roddy rolled him onto his back, red optics fritzing as he stared up at him.

“Hi.” Hot Rod smiled, quick and strained, given the situation. “Should I take that as a no? My name's -”

The mech growled and tried to stagger upright, attempting to push him away but only managing to collapse forwards. Hot Rod caught him before he fell completely, the Matrix bouncing and glinting on its chain.

“Right,” Hot Rod muttered, testing the mech's weight. With a strength that a light speed-frame like his _shouldn't have_ he pulled the other mech upright and, staggering a little, got one or two steps before deciding, for the third time in what felt like as many minutes, _slag it_. He bent at the knees and got himself in position to get the other mech across his shoulder, a surprised hiss escaping the fanged mouth that was now way closer to his neck cabling than ought to be comfortable. 

“All right,” Hot Rod huffed. “'S just a straight line back home. No problem. Ratch'll fix you right back up, I promise.” He began to trudge back the way he'd came, thinking how ridiculous they must look, and not really caring.


End file.
